Mar Rojo Novels & Stories

I walk over to the counter to pour another glass. Marisol laughs bitterly, trying to choke back a sob,"Cut ties? You think I didn’t try? That man is Dragon’s blood. His face is in every scar on my—" Her hand instinctively grazes the jagged scar on her collarbone—a mark shaped like a twisted moth. My gut clenches. I know that scar. He gave it to her. **FLASHBACK — CARTAGENA, COLOMBIA — 13 YEARS AGO**

She had no idea where this could be. Looking down at her now blood-covered clothes again, a drape of realization is cast over her as she stares down at her fingers, bathed in a stomach-churning red. Marisol grows a lot more livid than she'd been over the course of her stay in Redwood. These people really never just stop, do they?! They'd intended to sacrifice her? Marisol was certain that this was a ritual. There was no doubt about it.

I can sense the anger in my mate rising with every passing second, as if being fueled by the sounds erupting from the on lookers throats as I feel the heat of her red wolf radiating off of her body, as she struggles to contain the fire from busting out and emgolfing her.

"You’re clever, cara mia. I’ll give you that." Her stomach dropped. He stepped into the light, shadows dancing across his face. "Alonso Delgado never made it past his twentieth birthday. I did." She couldn’t breathe. "What?" He moved closer, until the poker nearly touched his chest. "I’m Esteban. Esteban Gallego." The name struck her like lightning. The Gallegos; rivals of the Delgados. Ruthless. Vicious. Responsible for the massacre in Medellin.

◦•●◉✿ Who wants to leave, Leave either way. ✿◉●•◦ 𝗥𝗼𝗼𝗵𝗶 𝗣𝗼𝘃 Despite being the worst morning of this month, somehow it’s not the worst day. Today is Friday, which means 𝗙𝗨𝗡 𝗗𝗔𝗬. Today our group is together which means— 🅽🅴🆆 🆁🅴🅴🅻.

Lorenzo pov. Drip, drip, drip. Red is my favorite color—especially when it’s fresh, warm, and spilling from someone who still thinks begging might save them. I tilt my head, watching the traitor—Marco, wasn’t it?—crumple against the chains that hold him upright. His face is a ruined canvas: broken nose leaking steadily, split lip puffed and purple, one eye already swelling shut. Snot and blood mix in disgusting rivulets down his chin as he whimpers.

Marco interfered. "Because that's what humans like you acquire when you come out of our place. You will lose that part from your memory and will just continue life as it is." "That's impossible." "Yeah, that's ridiculous," added Marco. "I know it's weird, but it's true. And it is engraved in your very skin. You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?" "And what if you saved me? I'm sure my mother already paid the price for it, didn't she?"

Just feeling the caffeine enter my body was good enough. "Feeling better?" Hunt asked, leaning forward and drinking from his own mug. I nodded and then got down to finishing the rest of my sandwich and coffee. When I was done, I felt warm inside and happy too. It'd been long since I'd felt either of those things. "We'll be moving the traps further into the woods this year," a burly man in a red and black plaid shirt said as he walked into the store with a rifle in his large hand. He wore a dirty brown cap over his head with thin strands of dark hair sticking out front underneath. There was something about him that reeked of danger. I could smell it all over him along with the strong stench o

When she was done, she didn't know how she walked back to the kitchen without falling on her face. “Oh my god! Did you see that hottie?" She grabbed Lisa and squealed immediately she entered. "Yeah, I saw. I saw how you were gushing and almost drooling all over the poor man!" "I was?..." Cora asked in surprise. She didn't know she was that obvious "Yes, Corazon!" Lisa rolled her eyes upward. "He's American. I can bet he's on holiday, looking for a pussy to make his time in Spain more enjoyable. So please get your head out of the cloud if you don't want to get hurt!" Lisa snapped

But they’ll get over it once it’s done. I throw on real clothes, grab my room key, and head out. The beach is nearly empty, moonlight barely lighting the rocky coastline. I move toward a large outcropping, where I’d seen movement. I summon a spell—black and purple energy sparking between my palms. But when I round the rocks and step into view— They’re already dead. Roweena. Iona. The Red One. Laid out on the sand. Clouded eyes. Blood pooling beneath them. Chests torn open, hearts missing.